


Yearn

by formeldehyde



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Also a nightmare lowkey, Cannibalism, Gore, M/M, Manipulation, Masochism, Mental Health Issues, Murder Husbands, Murder Kink, Nightmares, Possessive Behavior, Sadism, Wet Dream, season 2 - freeform, season 2 kinda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2019-06-05 14:49:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15173030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/formeldehyde/pseuds/formeldehyde
Summary: It's lust, and it's uncontrollable. You can't cage the animal.





	1. Reach Inside

It is not a hunger. It is not a want or a desire, not anything but a low, hot yearning hidden somewhere, buried beneath layers of morality. Skin and blood masking the guilt. Some go their whole life never acknowledging it, never succumbing to it. Most do. Potential is never reached and ignored in favor of ease and security.   
The select few, who do indulge, never go back. Recovering or reforming is not an option. Once you fall into the wade of the stream, you are either caged or kept in an entirely different prison. A prison of smoke and mirrors and of isolation.   
Notoriety only comes after death. Or after they catch whiff of the blood on your hands, the death seeping from every pore. The murder that clings to your skin will be shown the light, moon turning it black as void. They see that stain as an infestation of the heart or the mind. They corral and castrate what they don't understand, rip out the beating, bleeding black heart from its rib cage. Once it's gone, what's there to do?


	2. Frenzy

"I'm glad you could come see me, Will."  
"I'm sorry I've missed my past few appointments." Despite the apology, it was clear sincerity was void in Will's words. His eyes were unfocused, flicking back and forth over his surroundings. As always, avoiding Hannibal's gaze- ever transfixed on the man in front of him.  
"It's quite alright, you have a lot on your plate."  
Hannibal sees Will's lips quirk into a smile at his choice of words but it is gone as soon as it came. A flash of intimacy, a gaze through the veil of Will's feelings. Their friendliness is forever an uncomfortable concept for Will, Hannibal understands. The man feels guilty for the part of him that understands the killer, the same part that understands all of the killers. He feels ashamed of every dark part of his nature despite the fact that shadows bleed from his veins. He doesn't realize that there isn't a part of him that has been charred with darkness; that it was merely the entirety of his soul leaking tar from the fake layers from trying to see the light.  
"You could say that," Will laughed dryly, warmth in his eyes. There were fires behind the icy blue eyes, fires burning cities in their paths. Hannibal could loose himself in flames and the blood stains trailing Will's steps.  
"How's your latest case?"  
"I don't know what to think. Randall is..." Will sighed. Tier's kills bled wolves, teeth clawing at the back of Will's eyelids. Gnawing and gnashing it's fangs into pale flesh. "I don't know what he is. His kills were rabid and frenzied but untouched with sexual drive. They were primal and he is absolved with the beast he believes himself to be. I can't get him out of my head."  
Hannibal let that sit for a second. Analyzed the way Will's hands shook and his frantic gaze flickering everywhere but Hannibal's eyes. "You can't get him out of your head because you can understand him too well, because you were the one to absorb the power of his kills. You finished the Randall Tier story by giving him what he always wanted. By solidifying his delusion, you lost yourself to it."  
"So do you believe that I am...becoming him?" Will felt the room spinning and he felt that he could smell the stench of rot coming off Randall, smell the lavender soap from his bathroom after washing his hands over and over, trying to relieve the stain of death on them.  
"I believe you are becoming yourself. And, by that, the part of you that understood him- that transformed him."  
"You did too." Though Will snapped Randall's neck, felt he bones crack beneath his hands, he dropped it on Hannibal's door like a pet bringing its owner a kill. Hannibal taunted the dark parts within Will to fall helplessly into the mind of a beast. To let himself run naked in the pitch of night, to punch the trees with every wave of desire to kill. His head clouded in sounds of howling wolves and deep growls. Vision red and heart beating rapid with adrenaline. Old scars from antlers resurfacing to line his spine.  
"We are alike, Will. We share the death of many. We understand in each other what we lack in ourselves."  
"What do you lack, Dr.Lecter?"  
"What do you?"  
Will smiled nervously, "I don't know."  
"Well what did Tier have? What did he lack?"  
"He had instinct...and trust in it. He didn't have the appearance of what he truly was. That was what I gave him." Tears were dotting in the frosted blue of Will's eyes.  
"And that was what he gave you-you killed him with your hands, you bathed in his blood. You became not just the monster he was disguised in, but the monster you try to hide within yourself."  
"What are you saying, Dr.Lecter?" Venom dripped from his words as he himself gnashed his teeth at Hannibal. Hurt and guilt was flushed in his cheeks.  
"Nothing you should take as an attack, Will."  
"I should go."  
"I apologize if I imposed."  
"Don't you always?"  
Hannibal sadly smiled. "I enjoy picking your brain far too much for my own good. Sometimes I fear I get ahead of myself."  
Will sighed, "I'll see you Thursday. Goodbye, Hannibal." He left quickly and nearly ran back to his car, all too ready to drive back to Virginia and drink away the desire Hannibal lit in him.


	3. we come home

The fireplace is a beating heart in Will's house. Warm orange glow burns on his face as he pets his newest stray behind the ears. His mind lost in the flames as he hears Hannibal's words echo in his ears. Will's thoughts solely on what Hannibal was saying when he said "monster you try to hide"?   
Was he saying that Will was a monster, or that he was becoming one. Or that some how Will was merging with the beast. Loosing his humanity, his morality and fading into feral impulse. Running of adrenaline and bloodlust. Feeding on Hannibal's eyes on him as he killed-He snapped his head, heart dropping and chugging the rest of his glass of whiskey. He needed to stop thinking like this. He needed to stop letting Hannibal stain his thoughts, Will needed to carve Hannibal out of his dreams.   
Even if he could, he wasn't sure he wanted to. All Will was without Hannibal was the shell of a killer. An empty gun with no bullets. Ready to kill and dangerous, without ammunition to do the deed. Hannibal was behind the trigger and he was getting dangerously close to pressing it. The safety had been turned off the moment Will met him. It was all chance now.   
Hannibal would never load the cylinder or force Will to act on his impulses. He would hand Will the bullets and see if he'd pull the trigger himself. He wanted Will to want to kill. Why, that was, Will was still deliberating on. Hannibal was a monster, and maybe monsters got lonely. Or maybe this was something else entirely, a plan full of ulterior motives and lies. Will had been trying to play Hannibal, lure him into a trap to muzzle and cage him. Hannibal was trying to sharpen Will's teeth and break him from the bondage he's bound himself in.   
The thought churned guilt in Will's stomach. Hannibal only wanted freedom for Will, only wanted him to let go of what he feared and let himself fall into his nature-their nature. And here Will was trying to declaw and castrate the monster Hannibal let himself be. It was cruel.  
Will didn't want to be a cruel man, he wanted to be kind to Hannibal. But at what cost was his kindness? Was it letting himself fall into Hannibal's will? Become everything Will feared his whole life?   
He shook his head and poured another glass. He fed the dogs and let them join him in his bed as he slept that night.   
      His mind flooded with some odd mix between a nightmare and a wet dream. His skin was hot throughout the night and something low in his gut was churning deliciously as he gawked at the stag, ripping through Will's torso with the prongs of its antlers. Eating them, hooves turned to hands, gripping tenderly at Will's hips, its snout turned to a mouth and Will watched in awe as Hannibal ate Will's insides, looking up at him like he was a god.  
     In heavenly fires, demons with faces aflame haunt the corners of his bedroom as he lays in half conscious paralysis for hours.   
      He knows he'a been losing his mind for years but it's getting worse. Hannibal got off on every new symptom he scribbled down on Will's file. From dissociation and intimacy issues to full psychotic breaks and seizures, Will Graham was a mess of mental illness. No medications seemed to work, everything Hannibal prescribed seemed to send him further into the pit of his mind.   
      Therapy was making him backpedal in mental stability but it made Jack feel better about Will working. Will liked working because he liked helping people, even if it meant he would be rid of a good nights sleep or a decent meal. It also meant that he had to get out of his house, which he despised.  
When he woke that morning, cursed with morning wood and a pounding headache, he prayed for the first time in years. As he let the ice cold shower water rain over him, he begged the god he never believed in to rid him of sin. But he knew it was impossible. Will's immortal soul was as bloody and dark as the monsters he condemned. The monsters were his brothers, and the beast his bride.


	4. carnage

Hannibal was well aware his fascination with Will Graham would be his demise. He had always prided himself on his commitment to self preservation but Will had stripped him of that. He made Hannibal weak, made him stick his neck where it did not belong, risking his own capture along with many other things. He was too far gone now, Will Graham would live in his heart until the day Hannibal died. His life has filled Hannibal's empty hope with the desire for the mind of his one true match; or rival however it may end. Either way, Will would either fill a void in Hannibal or make the emptiness a thousand times more painful should they be separated, should this all not end in Hannibal's favor.   
Acknowledging that, Hannibal is petrified. To save Will he'd do most anything, including giving up everything he's become. But what Hannibal truly yearns for, is Will's true becoming. His transformation into that dog-toothed vigilante he sees in mirrors during his dreams. The beast that is hungry for warm, righteous blood. Hannibal spends too much time thinking about it, the way that dark wine looks splattered over his pale skin. The way his ocean eyes go dark when his brain enters another's, where he is the puppeteer of serial murders. Of Hannibal's murders, for the record.   
Oh and that thought sends shivers down his spine. Will has been so intimate with Hannibal's work, it was evident his intelligence couldn't be deluded by Hannibal's expert manipulation. How beautiful, how unique Will Graham's mind. The overflowing empathy but the aversion to emotional intimacy. He was the opposite to Hannibal entirely, but they were alike in one dangerous way. They had hearts and minds plagued in the same darkness; sickness from seeing rotting bodies, dreaming of the morose, believing themselves to be damned.   
Hannibal shook his head, pouring a glass of red wine for himself and bringing it out to his balcony to be accompanied with a smoke. His heightened senses rarely allowed him to indulge in cigarettes, but one of his finest cigars was nothing but a delight to his trained nose. It also calmed his nerves about he and Will's session.   
Hannibal had a horrible fear that the younger man would drop therapy, that Hannibal would have to go to much more extreme efforts to dig into the pits of Will's mind. That would be a shame, Hannibal quite liked being given broken pieces and trying to put them back together. Each conversation with will was a bloody, battered puzzle piece. This was the most fun Hannibal has had in years.   
     After finishing off the wine, he took a shower and hoped the hot water would clean his skin of the itch Will left behind on him. The insufferable sweet ache of unknowing.  
-  
Will was hungry but could not eat. He was dehydrated but water seemed to hold some type of fire within. Mortal need, sleeping, eating, anything, seemed fruitless. His mind took hold of everything, leaving him scrawny and dizzy with thoughts of blood. The impeding force of Hannibal Lecter skewed life itself. Will belonged to him now. No matter how hard he tried to deny it, no matter how many times he tried to think his way out of the psychological playground his own brain had become, Hannibal would never leave him. He was stained with an uncomfortable, carnage filled love affair that could only end in death.  
      When he woke, a pounding headache from the horribly predictable hangover had taken over those dark thoughts. He drug that starving corpse to the medicine cabinet, filling his empty stomach with aspirin and coffee.   
      The day was dull, he had a cigarette while tossing toys to his dogs in the lawn, took five showers in some feeble attempt to wash that stain away.   
      The water was hot on his skin and he felt antlers hanging over his head and that black figure stood so close to him in the tub he felt like he would be impaled on the prongs. His hands seemed to creep downward. There was nothing but shame in his heart as he jacked off, looking into those cataract eyes of the demon he knew Hannibal to be. Into the eyes of the Chesapeake ripper. He didn't know why, but he came in seconds as he thought of Hannibal's soft but strong hands on his skin. He heaved an empty stomach onto the linoleum tub, in shame or sickness he was not sure.   
The nausea followed him throughout the morning and into the halls of the FBI. It kept his eyes lidded and his mind in that dark steam.   
As Jack and Beverly discussed the mutilations of Randall Tier, and Will remembered the feeling of skin stretching beneath his gloved fingertips, Hannibal's dark eyes watching him, leering over him with dark prongs and hunger.   
      Was his empathy expanding as far as putting himself in the crossfire of the  Chesapeake Ripper? Or more accurately, under his scalpel and dark gaze. His imagination seemed especially vivid since he had seen the black figure of the horned man in place  
of Randall. Since he beat the beast to death with his hands.   
      Will stumbled into the bathroom, sweaty and disoriented as he let the cold water from the faucet drain over his head. He couldn't stop the burning sensation under his skin, the guilt. He ran to the stalls and heaved up the breakfast he didn't had.   
As his headache spiraled into a migraine, he heard heavy footsteps on the linoleum floors. The steps faded until a deep voice called out his name. "Will?"  
Jack pushed the door open to find Will curled by the toilet, eyes squeezed shut like a child trying to wake up from a nightmare. He knelt down, "Will are you okay?"  
Will forced his eyes open and the fluorescents were so bright his head wouldn't let up, he nodded regardless. "I'm okay just...got sick." Will didn't bother to attempt to sound believable, he just forced himself to his feet and flushed.   
"You should go home."  
"Is everything alright?" Will's blood froze as another voice joined the choir of ringing in his ears. But this one seemed to deafen all the other sounds.  
"Dr.Lecter, why yes I'm all good here but Graham is feeling under the weather so I think he deserves a day off." Jack smiled and Will still couldn't believe the head of the unit did not see one strange thing about Hannibal.   
"Will, if you're ill he shouldn't be driving." Hannibal played the concerned colleague, empathetic psychiatrist, trusted friend, all too well. "Why don't you let me drive you? I was just on my way out, it would be no trouble at all."   
Of course it wouldn't.


	5. heavy on the comedown

Will's migraine had faded a little after popping a few too many of his pain medication. He had his head pressed against the window in a feeble attempt to cool himself down. Watching the city fade around him, blending slowly into the familiar natures of rural Virginia, Will felt the pressure on his ribs let up a bit. He'd been completely useless for the few hours he attempted to work today. Imagining Randall Tier's killer, knowing he was writing a profile for himself, felt so disgusting. It felt like the ink of his pen was cutting into the paper and opening red bloody wounds.   
     "Is hard for you?" Hannibal had asked, never taking his eyes off the long unpaved road ahead.   
      "Is what hard for me?" Will said, tongue and cheek, knowing damn well what his psychiatrist was asking.  
      "Will, you know you can always be a hundred percent honest with me. It could not have been easy creating a profile for Randall's killer."  
      "I didn't write about myself." He hadn't. In fact minutes before he threw up chyme into the men's restroom of the FBI headquarters, Will had alluded to the possibility of a copycat Ripper.   
      "What did you write?"  
      "That someone could be mimicking the Ripper, that it would be a young person with no connection to him. They'd be an obsessed fan who'd want to emulate the things he'd done."  
      "Is that why you did it?"  
      Will felt himself blush, craning his neck even further from Hannibal who was now turned to look at him with those eyes black as pitch.  And they even looked red now, in the low orange sunlight. Will couldn't help but actually look, no thoughts of broken blood vessels or white irises because he saw through Hannibal's eyes. "I killed you, through him. But yes, the presentation was an emulation of your kills." Will broke the stare down, moving his focus to the blur of passing farmland. "I did it to feel closer to you," He said quietly, like a confession.  
      Will could see Hannibal's feral grin in his peripheral vision and he'd be lying if he said it didn't make him grin a bit. Will hadn't lied to Hannibal, he wanted desperately to understand just why Hannibal found such pleasure in the most grotesque of things, beauty in the ugliest. He saw it now because those very things attracted Will like a moth to a flame. Hannibal was a ember of sin and Will as a timid moth couldn't help but let himself burst in the heat. The smell of scorched skin as wings painted the black forest night in smears of light. Then, nothing but ash remained of the two.   
      Will knew, somewhere in the collective unconscious of all things, he and Hannibal wouldn't live without each other and not in the way you'd think. They can't live with or without each other, constantly at each other's throats yet gazing deep into the other's mind and feeling hungry.   
      "Do you? Feel closer to me, Will?" Hannibal's voice was even deeper it seemed. His eyes void of all color and detail as the sun settled behind the trees as if cowering in fear.  
      Did he? Had he objectively masturbated while staring into his brain's personal interpretation of the true Hannibal Lecter. The 'man', more beast. The master manipulator, intelligent psychopath who loved music and art. Who had been the only one to deceive the head of the FBI behavioral unit? Who Will had let peer into the pits of his soul he hid from everyone. Hannibal was brilliant and if Will was truly honest, and allowed himself to stray from his thorough profile of how Hannibal Lecter might be the most fearsome serial killers the world had ever known. The cannibal chef who daylights as a psychiatrist.   
      Will forced himself to refocus with his headache now back in full force. He did feel closer than ever, it was undeniable. But was that something he wanted to admit, was it something good? "Y-yeah, I do."  
      Hannibal hummed in some sort of nonverbal agreement and pulled onto Will's road. "Will, what's changed? Since the last time we saw each other." Hannibal was investigating now. Will's sudden emotional declaration was a perfect time to make sure the younger man wasn't playing with him. Though Hannibal loved their cat and mouse, he was trying to see if that fanged mongoose was still hungry. What did it want with a snake?   
      "I uh..." Will turned bright red, thanking the god he gave up on for the dark blanket of night. "I had a dream. It confused me but I think I understand it now."  
      "Glad to hear it, and I hope you feel better. I expect you at your next appointment." Hannibal let his hand fall on Will's shoulder, squeezing it lightly as if examining it. His eyes locked on Will, waiting for a sign of how Will truly felt. He'd get nothing clear because Will himself was unclear of what exactly was happening. Until an involuntary noise escaped his lips when Hannibal's head brushed over the back of his head. "Goodnight, Will."  
      The ghost of his body muttered a pathetic goodbye as he nearly ran back inside, met with a dozen dogs yapping excitedly. He fed them and let them out, imagining them running on tops of waves of black seas.   
      His heart felt heavy in his chest as he dragged himself up the stairs. He cringed at the sight of his shower, the dried vomit on the floor. He flopped into bed, kicking his shoes off and pulling the handle of whiskey out of his bedside table; it's home since being released.   
      He chugged himself into an early bedtime. His mind overflowing with the memory of Hannibal's hand on the back of his neck, the way he tugged accidentally on one of Will's curls. He wouldn't let himself even tug his jeans off because he tried as his hands felt like someone else's as he undid his belt.   
      His dreams were full of bear teeth and the crashing of a coastline. He remembered lips, blood, and the sound of screaming.   
       Will woke in a cold sweat with the smell of Hannibal's cologne wrapping him. He realized he was still dawning the jacket Hannibal leant him on the way to the car through the rain that followed them the first twenty minutes of their drive.  
      Will was sick again, the whisky tasted worse the second time. He called out of work and vowed to spend the day washing Hannibal's scent off his skin and the vomit off his shower floor. He still wasn't hungry but when he heard a knock on his door, his stomach grumbled at the sight of Alana walking in with a basket of muffins, saying nothing and giving him one.   
      She sat across from him on the couch and ate a blueberry muffin. She always had this look in her eyes, neon pools of blue stared at him accusingly. Like she was solving a puzzle before she spoke. "How are you feeling?"  
      Will laughed honestly at that, taking a bite of one of the muffins and feeling his stomach growl. "Great."   
      Alana looked at him, those oceans squinting at him. "When was the last time you ate? Or slept, or took care of yourself in general?" Alana put down her muffin and sighed. "Will, you look like shit."  
      "I know...I've just been sick." Will's stomach was a mess and he tossed it. "Nauseous, dizzy, with a killer migraine on top of it all."   
      Alana rubbed her temples. "Is that all? You've seemed so different since-"  
      "I am different." He cut her off, "I don't know why but I am...and I feel like shit."  
      "Will, you should really see a doctor."  
      "Isn't that why you're here?" Will didn't mean to sound hostile, he cared for Alana and she was always honest with him. He couldn't help him, he was so irritated with everyone. He's been on edge since Hannibal drove him home and his mind was far from the halls of the academy.   
      Alana shook her head, "Don't push me away. I'm here because I care about you. Jack said he was concerned."  
      "Of course he did." Will was biting the inside of his cheek, thinking of how Jack and the rest of the unit sat around discussing Will. Everyone was talking and he was deaf to them at this point but those moments of realization still made him itch.   
"Will, you're being defensive. Does this have something to do with you and Hannibal's little drive back here?" She stood up, buttoning her jacket up. "Whatever it is, Will, I won't force you to talk. I'm your friend... but i won't force you to be mine." She got her purse off the floor and pulled a few bones and dog toys out for Winston and the others.   
"Alana, I'm sorry. I just can't...not now." He ducked away from her, stumbling backwards into the wall. His head was spinning and he forced a normal goodbye before nearly slamming the door behind her. He immediately ran to the bathroom where he heaved up half a chocolate chip muffin.  
He didn't remember falling asleep that night. Probably because he didn't feel like he ever fell asleep. He was just suddenly in Hannibal's office.   
He felt better, objectively. His headache was gone and he didn't feel freezing or burning up. His nausea was still there but dulled. He pried his eyes open and found them fixed on Hannibal's dark eyes. It felt like a warm evening and Will didn't really feel scared. That's what terrified him.


	6. reckoning

"How are you feeling Will? You look like you just went somewhere." Hannibal's voice was gritty and his lips were curled at the ends. He had a feline darkness that clung to him, hooked claws and eyes that looked at Will like a bird with a broken wing.   
     "I-How did I get here?"  
     "You drove here."  
      Will sighed and rubbed his head. "I need to go."  
      "Will, you've only just gotten here. We need to speak, you can't avoid me forever."  
      "Trust me, I know." Will laughed a bit, taking a second to breathe.   
      "Are you feeling better since you fell ill?"  
      "Actually, I am. The last I remember I felt like I was dying...not to be dramatic."  
      Hannibal smiled. Predatory. "How are you feeling in your heart? Are you still conflicted with your guilt?"  
      "About Randall? No...I think I'm happy. He was beautiful, Hannibal. The fangs, the claws, everything was so beautiful. He was who he always had been." Will began tearing up, he tried to hide it but he instinctively wiped his eyes dry and Hannibal sunk his teeth in at the first sign of weakness.  
      "Do you envy him, Will?"  
      "I envy that he always knew the beast he was. I know there's a beast, but I have no name to call it by."  
      Hannibal seemed to savor the way those words rolled off Will's tongue. "If you were a beast, Will, what would you be?"  
      "The cowardly lion, probably."   
      "William, you are anything but cowardly. You are docile but when you are cornered," Hannibal stood up, prowling towards him. "You have an intensity, a blood thirst. I'd say today you are a mongoose but what could you be tomorrow?"  
      William froze, locking eyes with the man in front of him. Hannibal stood in the center of his office, the light from the window behind him burning around his silhouette like a flaming seraphim. Will gawked at the shadow of his figure as it grew above him into magnificent antlers.  
      "I think, William you could be a predator unlike any other. The heart of a loyal wolf, ferocity of a lion, stubbornness of a bull...but none of those beasts desire what you do."  
      A cloud covered the sun, and Hannibal's features refocused and Will felt himself flush, face hot as he tried to hide his embarrassment. "W-What do you think I desire?"   
      Hannibal did not miss the way Will's eyes flicked to look down at Hannibal's lips before biting his own. Hiding his gaze from the doctor. Will was an isolated man, he was starved in every sense of the word. Starved for peace, love, touch, self esteem. He had none of them but he lived like he couldn't be bothered to care about the basics of comfortability. Beyond that, the darkness around him keeps anyone trying to feed the stray dog from getting too close. If cornered, he bites. But even a feral mutt can become a lapdog if trained. However, Will is no lapdog. Hannibal imagines keeping him muzzled and chained, an attack dog loyal to him and only him. The idea that the dog desires the beast holding the leash, sent chills down his spine but Hannibal continued as if Will's reaction hadn't shocked him,"I think you desire reckoning, your own evolution, chaos...perhaps even love."  
      Will choked quietly, stuttering before asking, "What beast wants to be loved?"  
      "All of them, including the most horrifying of them all."  
      "People."  
      "Exactly." Hannibal smiled. "You are the most human of predators, the most righteous...the people you've killed have all been the real beasts."   
Will stopped for a second. Contemplating the men he's killed, the sons he's taken, the father. The guilt nearly buried him alive, but he never expected the elation once it had faded. The power, holy rage, the dark beauty. The black stag's neck snapping between his hands in pure ecstasy. "I tried to kill you."  
      Hannibal hadn't felt anything but proud of Will when he learned the truth; That Will was the guiding hand to his attempted assassination. Hannibal had always known that eventually Will's morals would begin to gray if his reality was no longer black and white either. If he cornered the feral dog, it would bite- but if he cornered Will, empathetic, socially awkward teacher, he would snap. And, not just bite- he'd kill. Hannibal wanted him to enjoy it. He wanted the beast in him hungry no longer. "Yes. And you killed me through Randall. Killed Hobbs because you thought him a monster, as well as the rest."  
      "When is a monster not a monster, Dr. Lecter?"   
      Hannibal was now hovering over him, Will stood up. He knew what power meant, he knew he had it and he wouldn't let Hannibal make him feel small. Hannibal was taller than him still but Will met his eyes directly. Peering into those black irises raised the hairs on the back of his neck but he didn't hesitate.   
Cutting him off before he could open his mouth Hannibal answered, "When you love it."


	7. sweet tooth

Will had made himself sick for days on horror. The man he knew to be a butcher of dozens, was in his wet dreams. The Ripper who framed him was inches away and Will wanted him closer. He knew, he had always known, that he couldn't be without Hannibal. Not since he dug his prongs into Will's mind and rewired his reality. He couldn't live with him, the beast he tried to trap and shoot. But that was different when Will's tongue knew the taste of righteous blood. It was sweet and metallic and Hannibal savored all delicious delicacies. Will had no reign to his empathy and apparently, neither did Hannibal's seduction. He wanted Will, for what reason- attack dog, experiment, get out of jail free card- but now they both wanted much more. They were far too hungry for any good.   
      Their session ended at noon. It was 11:58, Baltimore, Maryland, his name was Will Graham. He was inches from Hannibal's face, cheeks bright as a cherry and his legs wobbly under Hannibal's intense gaze. Will swallowed, "Yes. Even the most gruesome serial killers had dedicated families, friends...lovers."  
"What about two monsters?" Hannibal couldn't quite help himself now, he could smell the confusion-and the arousal- wafting off Will's skin. Imagining the two of them in a life of sins and delicious pleasure, that was something Hannibal found incredibly arousing himself. He would find if so easy to wisp will away to Italy and allow him all the things he's never had. The art, the music, the food. The freedom.   
"Bonnie and Clyde were monsters in love," Will said softly, "but a monstrous love only ends one way."  
"In death."  
Will was breathing heavily now, unable to distract himself from Hannibal's lips, the way he was looking at Will like he looked at a beautifully crafted dinner table.   
Hannibal's intuition was never wrong, he trusted his gut over anything else. When he grabbed Will's hair, hearing the beautiful whimper he let out fueled his confidence in his instincts. Their lips met with aggression, Will immediately buckling beneath him before Hannibal grabbed his hips and help him in place beneath him.   
Will felt like his skin was on fire. Hannibal's cool hands like ice on the exposed strip of skin at his hip, he wanted to melt. He kissed back vigorously, angrily, his eyes shut allowing him to see the beast in front of him but the stir of heat in his stomach wanting him so desperately. He felt ashamed but couldn't help it, Hannibal's teeth nipped slightly and he let out a soft moan. Hannibal pulled away and Will felt like he'd been washed adrift by a current. Floating in empty waters, head spinning and legs numb.   
When Hannibal strengthened his grip, he watched for Will's reaction. The heavy pressure made him shiver and lean into the touch, Hannibal couldn't help but smile.   
"What are you staring at?" Will said in a slight slur, a smile playing on the corner of his lips.   
"William," Hannibal brought a hand to his dark curls , pressing a kiss to the younger man's neck. "How could I not stare at such a beautiful monster?"   
His lips met Will's again and he was starting to feel drunk. He'd never felt like this before, Hannibal's hands felt like the many hands of Shivu the destroyer, everywhere at once and pulling Will into the world in which he was God. Will wanted to shock the man who seemed to never be surprised, Will brought his teeth down hard on Hannibal's lip. Sinking into the skin and pulling, drawing globs of hot blood onto Will's tongue.   
      Hannibal felt a moan be punched out of him, the pain exquisite. The feeling of Will's teeth, his rage, sent shockwaves through his empty bones. He needed to taste Will, he'd been starving for him for so long. Only getting whiffs of his sickening sweetness. He flipped them around and pressed Will against the wall, bringing his mouth to the younger man's neck.   
"Hann-"  
Before he could say anything, Hannibal's canines were deep in the soft flesh at the crook of his neck, boiling the heat inside him. He felt warm blood dripping down into his chest and as he tried to pull those lips back onto his, he felt the weight of Hannibal's hands on his wrists fade.   
"It'll scar," Will whispered into what felt like an empty room.  
"Good. You're mine now, Will."  
Will growled, peeling himself off the wall before grabbing Hannibal by the neck, biting his bottom lip and ripping a chunk of flesh out. Will's mark on him where he could never hide it. "Now you're mine."  
Hannibal smiled with black and red teeth, holding his swollen lip with equally bloody fingers. "Now I'm yours." 

\----

When Will got home, He felt deviant, a heathen of morality, but this sin was too sweet. Hannibal tasted like cherry wine and old cigars, his voice in Will's head made it spin like syrupy heroin. His kisses have Will a sugar rush and he was shaking for more. He never had much of a sweet tooth until now.  
He felt indulgent, like he was allowing himself to break from his scheduled self destruction. He dug around his bedside table until he found an old pack of Marlboro reds, a few poorly wrapped joins nestled among the cigarettes. He grabbed one of each and walked out onto his porch, watching the sun set across forests and fields as he burnt through the joint, feeling lighter and darker.   
He'd felt deprived, starved, so close to the death he felt he'd crossed over while still inhabiting a mortal body. He had to prove his life now, had to give himself what he wanted regardless of what he wished he could be. He'd never be the man he used to be, if he ever was.   
No, he was Hannibal's now. The tug of war between their power ended at a bloody, sweet stalemate.


	8. hedonism

Allowing Hannibal's vision to come to fruition, killed the harmless persona of Will Graham. He was not turned cruel, or unnecessarily violent, but it transformed his rage into art. His need to protect good people stayed through it all. But, his fear, oh the fear, began to manifest into horrors of his own making.  
      His dogs didn't seem to recognize him anymore, growling when he entered hand in hand with Hannibal. Their teeth bared and growling lowkey because the man covered in blood and smiling at the demon he feared most, could not be the Will they loved.   
      He could not be the same Will who cared for them and took them in, dry humping a serial killer in their living room. Smelling of dried blood and the expensive cologne Hannibal bought him- his usual musk and Marlboro replaced with red wine and cuban cigars.   
Eventually, though, with dozens of sausage, made of god knows what, they warmed up to him. They got used to the two of them crashing into the house, they stopped barking when Hannibal would slam Will against the flimsy door and tear their blood soaked clothes off in a frenzy.   
      Will loved it, he felt more intimate with Hannibal then ever. Seeing the man who seemed so empty react with such intense emotion. Hannibal losing control made Will breathless. His eyes sunk dark like they did when he killed, his lips would smile softly, in a toothy smirk. Always covered in blood or cum, Will was getting addicted.   
      It had happened before. Josh, his roommate in senior year, was the first. Will had practically worshiped the ground he walked on. Then he came home early from a trip and found him fucking Will's best friend, Laura.    
     His intimacy issues had a tendency to either mean he has no feelings at all or he was completely obsessed. Josh was one of roughly five people in his life Will had become uncomfortably and unhealthily attached to. He didn't bring it up to Hannibal. Textbook Daddy (and Mommy) issues were a little boring for Hannibal Lecter's specific brand of psychology.   
From a distant, alcoholic, abusive father to a mom who Will only remembered as a sleeping mass in the dark bedroom at the end of the hallway, there was too much to even begin. Too many skipped lunches, too little touches- too rough touches. As a child he was all stutters, southern twang, and subtle flinches whenever anyone got too close.   
Regardless, Will Graham had been obsessed with Hannibal far too long for his own good. Now that obsession had turned, well, intimate. This was new territory for the both of them, isolated predators but so different from one another. The line between hate and love, fear and lust, it was intoxicating and Will found that Hannibal's teeth gnawing a scar into his neck would get him higher than any drug. But so was waking up to him making coffee, fucking slowly in the shower so sweet it made Will sick. Hannibal was softer than he'd ever imagined. He still had those eyes though, he felt like he was being lured by a perfect display of a boyfriend but there was still that- empty. Will wanted to break it open, he got close the first time he sunk his teeth into Hannibal's lip: the shock. Hannibal anticipated everything. Will became completely fixated on shocking Hannibal, first it was red panties, then the plug, then the handcuffs...  
      Work was difficult.   
      Hannibal still stared at him with such heat, Will fought not to blush whenever they had to be in a room with anyone else. His knowing smirk constantly sending Will into a haze of fire. Not to mention being out in the field together came with well... unforeseen consequences.   
Hannibal had never pegged Will as the jealous type, nor did Will with he. But they now had became very acutely aware of every brief flirtation both men received from a slew of grieving neighbors and curious journalists. The first time a concerned parent made a move on Hannibal though, you'd have thought Will was a height trained attack dog.   
Hannibal found his obsession there. Possessiveness comes with the insecurity of love Will had when he was young. Jealousy is ugly on the masses but green does nothing but bring out the ocean blue of William's eyes, complements so beautifully against all blood reds. Will's teeth sharpened as his wit spat like fire in the face of Bryanna...Diana maybe, Hannibal couldn't possibly have bothered to remember her name. All he saw when he looked back was Will's eyebrows furrowed, all he heard was the low growl in the back of his throat. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, but we are working right now. I doubt Doctor Lecter spends his days pining for PTA pussy when he could get anyone he wanted. Thanks."   
It was crude, offensive even. Everything Hannibal thought disgusting. It was awe inspiring. "No need to be so rude." Hannibal couldn't not smile when he saw the way Will's pupils were wide, his fists clenched, biting on his tongue to hold its silver in place. "I am very much yours, William."  
Will turned to him, "And?" His eyes were still wide with heat, shaking underneath all of the layers hanging off his bony frame.   
"You're mine. You know that, my dear boy." Hannibal fought every urge to lunge at the bloodthirsty minx in front of him. But Jack was a few yards behind them, crowded by Beverly and the rest of the forensics team. Alana was trying to keep prying reporters behind the crime scene tape, local law enforcement holding crowds of people back from the scene left for the public.   
He and Will were anything but public. The glimpses of Will's jealousy are the only indication that could get them caught...that and the way Hannibal stared at him like he wanted to devour him right there in front of news station cameras and flashing police lights.   
Neither of them were much for PDA but the secret touches, the breathy whispers, the scorching staring matches. They were heavenly, they were damned and sacrilegious. Will felt like he'd been shacking up with the devil in a priest's confession booth. Like he was laughing in the face of God; of Jack. With Lucifer sucking on his neck, Will felt the fragile scale of his morality crash into fire and brimstone.  
With their new dance, their evolved ballet around each other's darkest parts, Hannibal found it hard for once in his life to keep his feelings, his urges, deprived. To numb the way he wanted to rip Will's lips up until they ripped whenever he tried to speak, to show both of their scars with pride. He found a delicious pain in being the dirty little secret Will Graham came home to. He loved tearing the white feathers off of Will's angel wings, replacing each with a stunning piece of gore.


	9. red pine

The stream of their consciousness began to rush in red waves not long after Will and Hannibal began sharing sweaters and bite marks. They wanted to get away. Just for a weekend. Will's stress levels were off the chart, their relationship along with everything else he had to lie about had him constantly on edge. Even when he was with Hannibal there was still that...flinch. Like a stray dog, ducking his head and baring his teeth. Whimpering and burying his head in Hannibal's lap.   
      "What about Paris?" Hannibal had asked, early in the morning on the couch in Will's living room. The floor was littered with sleeping dogs, Will curled on top of him and Winston at his feet.   
      Will opened his eyes, looking up at Hannibal. "That's far...and a little pretentious don't you think?" He nestled his head against Hannibal's thighs, he hated how safe he felt, how warm the fireplace in his heart felt. How that orange glow of whiskey seemed to bleed through the sunrise as it painted Hannibal and their home in peach and honey.   
      "One of the oldest cities in the world, but sure." Hannibal began playing with Will's dark curls where they fell onto Hannibal's pajama pants. They were soft from the new shampoo he'd brought last week after Will apologized for his greasy mop. He was so simple, so damned humble it made Hannibal rethink his own proclivities. He would always appreciate the finer things but the beauty of Will Graham's content minimalism (even if depressing and unhygienic at times) amazed him. He smelled like evergreen and hard whiskey, he tasted like raspberries and Hannibal felt the darkness in his empty chest begin to crumble. He felt like every kiss, every morning spent like this, was chipping away at the monster. The true wonder was seeing the opposite happen to Will. He was happier, yes, but he was becoming the monster he starved. After a moment of letting Will preen at Hannibal's playing with his hair, he asked, "What about Scotland?"  
      Will hummed, still in a haze of endorphins from the delicious feeling of Hannibal's calloused fingers running through his hair. "S'pretty," he mumbled, falling back asleep.   
      "Scotland it is, then." Hannibal smiled to himself, watching Will doze off in his lap, wearing one of Hannibal's only sweatshirts. The beast inside him was beginning to crave not just blood but sugar.  
\-----  
Will had always felt like an old forgotten land mine. Laying with the safety off in the woods of Wolf Trap where no one would ever set it off. But in Baltimore, in the FBI, in the heads of killers, he was always seconds from blowing. Never did he think it would be something methodical and manipulative. Something that made Will want to step on himself. Made the ground cave in around him on purpose, reveling in the spray of body and blood around him as anyone near him was torn apart.  
      Hannibal made no sense, he was unpredictable. Will's empathy, his anxiety, all of it made him so paranoid he felt like he predicted everything- every word, every movement- another person did. Hannibal was never like that cause he wasn't a person. Will was beginning to think Hannibal may have a heart though, think that there was something soft inside the Chesapeake Ripper.   
      He was even finding just how easy it was to let himself be Hannibal's. How safe he felt, how much he craved Hannibal's touch, how his morning voice was raspy and his hair fell over his face when it wasn't gelled and styled. Sometimes when Will closed his eyes at night, on the off days he wasn't with Hannibal, and he could feel the darkness leaking through the cracks in the wall he was building around reality. Losing himself in the feeling of Hannibal fucking him, teasing him, cooking for him, bribing his dogs with treats. But alone, laying on his bed without the heat of another body to distract him, his head would implode. Memories of crime scenes, of crying parents and screaming children, flood his brain. The antlers grow on the image of him in Will's mind, he sobs into his pillow.   
      He hates himself for it, he calls Hannibal that night. He had a fancy art exhibit in Fells Point, something they couldn't attend together (not that Will was much for high end art). He was probably on his way home. They were leaving for Scotland tomorrow afternoon, using a friend of Hannibal's private jet to avoid their names being listed together on a international flight. He needed to pack, they both did and they were each other's worst distractions.   
      Will needed the distraction, he also needed a fix. That fix was a joint he rolled after he got out of the shower and Hannibal Lecter's teeth on his neck. He lit the joint and walked outside, trying to ease his nerves as he listened to the dial tone.   
      "Will?" Finally. "Is everything alright?"   
      He sounded a little out of breath, for once caught off guard a bit. Will sighed, blowing smoke out of his mouth as he spoke "I-Can you come over?" God, he hated how needy he sounded.   
      "I'm unfortunately still at the exhibit. I won't make it home until around midnight, it'd be another two hours to you." He sounded distracted.  
      "Can I meet you there?"  
      Hannibal hesitated, "How about I leave the exhibit early, I'll run home and grab my things first."  
      Will nodded, taking another hit. "Okay uh...see you soon?"  
      "Of course. Goodbye, Will."   
       He hung up abruptly. Will felt emptiness clinging to his lungs like tar. He leaned against one of the beams on his porch, thinking of nothing but Hannibal's rushed goodbye. Finishing the joint, he flicks the roach into the lawn. He wants to stand there, staring down his driveway until he sees headlights and antlers.   
      He forces himself inside, pours two fingers of whiskey and sits on the couch, eyes fixed on the window. He feels dizzy and warm, glass empty and eyes glassy. The buzz and high combine beautifully and he feels his fears dripping away.   
After an hour and a little too much whiskey, Will only feels the thumping anticipation, the itching of excitement for his beast to walk in the door. He had caught and leashed the most illusive predator- but he'd never be able to tame it. He didn't really want to. Will was Hannibal's, but he often forgot Hannibal was his. Lecter's distracted tone earlier was whisked away with the booze, now Will's mind was full of skin and bitten lips, with memories of moments he'd seen the glimpse of the domesticated monster.  
      That is how Hannibal found him. High, rolling his hips against his palm, face flushed and eyes wet. "Hann-"  
      The man was on him in seconds. Well not quite, he prowled closer, tugging Will's hair harshly. "Did you call me all the way over here for a fuck?"  
      "No but you kept me waiting." Will smiled, unable to be mad at Hannibal at all. He laughed lightly as the older man's stoicism turned to slight annoyance as he no doubt smelled the weed and booze on Will's tongue. "Jus' missed you." He began rubbing himself through his jeans, staring right into Hannibal's eyes and letting out small, slurred, whimpers.   
      "William," Hannibal sounded tired, but he pressed their lips together softly. Sucking and bruising the soft pink flesh. Will bit down on Hannibal's lip, taking the millisecond of shock to deepen the kiss, pulling on Hannibal's jacket desperately. Hannibal groaned, shoving it off and onto the coffee table.  
Will tried to undo his shirt but Hannibal was bringing his hand over Will's where he was palming himself. Adding more pressure, bringing his mouth to Will's neck, other hand tugging his curls harshly.  
      "F-fuck, Hannibal!" Will yelped as Hannibal's teeth reopened the bloody bite on the crook of his neck, that along with grinding against Hannibal's hand, had Will cumming in his jeans like a teenager.  
      Hannibal wanted that. It seemed almost like a reward when he kissed the boy breathless, told him to shower, and brought his suitcases into the bedroom. Will obeyed in submissive daze, allowing Hannibal to undress him and leave him under the spray of the shower head.  
      Will was growing anxious as the hot water killed his high, clearing his head. It was only minutes until Hannibal joined him and began gently washing Will's hair from behind. "Where'd you go today?"  
      Hannibal's massaging stopped, "The exhibit."  
      Will sighed, trying to wash the soap out quickly before turning to face Hannibal, "And then where?"   
      Hannibal smiled, sometimes he overlooked how intuitive Will truly was. "I went to an old friend's. I got you something."  
Will was immediately cautious about this old friend. Hannibal didn't have friends, not really. Colleagues sure, acquaintances, but friends... that was a word he could use sparingly. "What do you mean?"  
"You'll see soon enough." Hannibal brought Will's hand to his lips, kissing it and lacing their fingers together. "Let me wash your hair out then I'll make something to eat. I'm assuming because I wasn't here cooking for you, you haven't eaten all day."  
Hannibal was right, and Will's sheepish nod was followed by him giving up the reins once again. Turning his back to the man, letting himself be washed and taken care of like he wasn't a fully grown man who should be perfectly capable of eating and showering without the help of anyone.   
Being with Hannibal made him feel like a child sometimes, but he knew Hannibal wasn't judging him for enjoying the attention. Will had to grow up so quickly, never really being coddled or cared for when he was young (or ever, really). Touch starved didn't even begin to cover how devoid Will's early life had been in terms of human contact. Even knowing that, Hannibal was older than him and sometimes Will felt like he was more of a caretaker than a partner. There was no even split, yes, they were equals, but Hannibal was in control and Will was beginning to realize just how much he liked it. As the shower sprayed his face, he was swaying and humming softly while Hannibal worked the conditioner into his scalp. He moaned when Hannibal finished, tugging at Will's wet curls to turn him around.   
"What do you think about when I touch you?" Hannibal asked, running his hands down Will's back. Grabbing his ass and pulling them together.   
      He gasped, the feeling of Hannibal surrounding him was too much for his already overstimulated body. Will didn't quite know how to answer that. He didn't know anything, he had no reason when Hannibal was touching him, pulling moans out of him with delicious agony and painful pleasure. "I don't think."  
      That seemed to be the answer Hannibal wanted, "Beautiful..." he said as he pulled Will's head back, working his kisses down the curve of his neck, "What do you imagine, then?"  
      "Hann-" Will couldn't respond, his face directly under the shower spray. He felt Hannibal's tongue lap up the rush of blood coming from his neck. Now on the backs of his lids he saw "splatters of blood, bursting suns, lungs, antlers," he whispered into the water.  
      Hannibal had sunk to his knees, with his hands tight on Will's hips and fingers digging harshly into Will's ass. He looked down, no light in the other man's eyes and Will was suddenly swept away by a gory déjà vu. That first dream, Hannibal eating Will's gut-spill, mouth suddenly painted ruby. When Hannibal pressed kisses to his stomach, he saw bite marks and hunks of flesh and intestines being torn off by sharpened canines.   
Then, as if spoken with a mouth of blood, a black figure with horns that were pinned to Will's hips asked, "What do you see now?"


End file.
